Montana Bride

by Joan Johnston

  “Is everything all right?” she asked, looking from Hetty, standing beside the bed, to Karl, sitting in his stocking feet on the messy bedclothes.

  “I was trying to get Karl’s hands and feet warm,” Hetty explained as she crossed to Grace. “So I put them under my arms.”

  “In bed?” Grace asked doubtfully.

  Hetty avoided Karl’s gaze as she explained, “His feet needed to be warmed, too, and that seemed the easiest way to achieve both.”

  Karl wondered why Hetty felt it so necessary to excuse those mussed bedclothes. They were married, for heaven’s sake!

  “What do you want?” Karl asked again.

  “I need to talk to Hetty,” Grace said.

  Hetty glanced back at Karl and said, “You should stay in bed and get some sleep. I’ll wake you at suppertime.” Then she put an arm around Grace’s shoulders and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Karl was left sitting on the edge of the bed. Alone.

  He was tempted to put his shoes back on and go out there and confront Hetty and demand…What? That she come back to bed and make love to him? Was that all he really wanted from Hetty? Her beautiful body in bed? Would that be enough to satisfy him for the rest of his life?

  Karl had resigned himself to marrying a woman sight unseen, but he’d paid close attention to the letters his prospective bride had written. Those letters had been full of hopes and dreams. They’d been written by an intelligent, imaginative woman. He’d figured that if he and his wife had a love of learning in common, they would have a good basis on which to build a relationship to last a lifetime.

  Those letters had influenced his immediate attraction to Hetty. But he was beginning to realize that there was a great deal he didn’t know about his wife. She was as skittish as a virgin whenever he touched her. He wondered what her relationship with her previous husband—or husbands—had been like. Had she been a victim of violence? Her wound seemed to suggest it.

  It had never occurred to him that his bride might have some aversion to sex, as opposed to sex specifically with him, when she’d borne two children.

  Karl wondered whether Hetty was physically attracted to him. He didn’t think so. On the other hand, when he’d kissed her in bed, she’d kissed him back. He wasn’t mistaken about that. She must at least enjoy kissing him. Otherwise, she could have turned her head aside.

  But Karl didn’t trust himself to be objective where Hetty was concerned. He’d allowed a great many doubts about his new wife to go unchallenged, something he wouldn’t have done if his wife hadn’t been so beautiful.

  He sighed and got back under the covers. He’d have to sleep on it. He needed to learn more about his wife. Whatever Hetty’s hopes and dreams, she’d obviously been forced into this marriage by the need to care for those two imps. And he’d let himself get suckered into going along for the ride, all for the sake of a pretty—all right, an irresistibly beautiful—face.

  Karl needed to find out if there was any chance of a happily ever after with his bride. He might be a plain-looking man, but in his dreams he was always Prince Charming. In the picture books, as in his dreams, the princess was always blue-eyed and blond and beautiful. Maybe that was why he’d fallen so quickly for Hetty.

  Karl fell asleep wondering how he could get the real-life girl to fall as deeply in love with him as the princess in his dreams.

  Hetty’s mind was whirling with thoughts of what had just happened in the bedroom. What was it about Karl Norwood that made him so easy to laugh with? Why did she melt when he kissed her? Especially when, if anyone had asked, Hetty would have said there was absolutely nothing about her husband that might draw a woman’s eye. Except for his brown eyes, which glowed golden in a certain light. And that overlapping front tooth, which made his smile do something strange to her insides.

  Hetty freely admitted that although she’d been in love before, she had no experience with desire. But it seemed wrong to crave the touch of any man so soon after Clive’s death. She’d believed the guilt and remorse she’d felt for inciting two men to fight and die would blight the rest of her life. It was disconcerting to find herself enjoying Karl’s kisses. Reveling in Karl’s kisses. Aching for Karl’s kisses.

  Hetty laid a hand against her stomach, which growled. Well, that explained the ache. She was starving. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Better to forget about kissing Karl, especially when she didn’t deserve the kind of happiness that sort of intimacy portended. She’d had her chance at love, and her love had died. This was no love match, it was a marriage of convenience meant to save two destitute children.

  Hetty felt a flush of shame that she’d let herself get so carried away. She needed to stay focused on what was important. Being a helpmate to her husband. Taking care of those two kids. Making a home for all of them. And getting supper on the table.

  Hetty heard the children begin arguing loudly and forgot all about Karl’s kisses. She hurried to their bedroom and found Griffin sitting up on the edge of his cot, pulling on a pair of socks over feet that had begun to blister.

  “What’s all the noise in here?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Karl’s trying to get some sleep.”

  “Griffin’s gone crazy!” Grace replied, her eyes wide with panic. She was standing beside his bed with her arms wrapped tightly around her budding chest, as though to keep herself from falling apart. “He wants to go back out in the snow and look for Mr. Campbell’s horse.”

  “This is all my fault,” the boy said. He hissed as he tried to pull a sock over his painfully frostbitten left foot.

  “Oh, Griffin, no,” Hetty said, her insides twisting as she imagined the excruciating pain of the rough wool rubbing against his blistered flesh. She sat down beside him on the bed and put her arms around his shoulders to stop him, leaving the sock hanging half off his injured foot.

  He tried to shrug her off, but Hetty held on. “That horse will probably show up here in a day or so all by himself. After all, he likely spent the summer stabled in the barn. He’ll be able to find his way back home. Mark my words on it.”

  Tears leaked from Griffin’s eyes, either from pain or guilt or both. He swiped at them, then glanced up at her and said, “Do you really think so?”

  Hetty saw from the look in his eyes that he wanted to believe her. “Sure I do. Besides, you can’t go anywhere until Bao gets back and has a look at that purple toe of yours.” She reached down and eased the sock off as gently as she could, but she could tell from the way Griffin hissed in his breath that she was hurting him.

  Once the sock was off, it was clear from the purple color and the lack of blisters that the little toe on his left foot was not responding to warmth as the rest of his toes had.

  “Will Bao have to cut it off?” Griffin asked.

  “No!” Grace cried, her arms coming free of her body to reach out in supplication. “Please don’t let him do that, Mom.”

  “I don’t know what Bao will decide to do,” Hetty said in a soothing voice, grabbing one of Grace’s hands and squeezing it reassuringly. “We have to trust him to know what’s best.”

  Grace yanked her hand free. “But he can’t cut it off! What if it makes Griffin limp?”

  Hetty met Grace’s tortured gaze and said in a calm voice, “We’ll love him just the same.”

  The anxiety went out of Grace’s face and her jaw firmed. “I certainly will.”

  “Toe not matter. Heart matter.”

  Hetty shivered at the sudden cold draft and turned to find Bao standing in the bedroom doorway, still wearing his snow-dusted coat. She shot him a relieved smile. “That sounds like something Confucius would say.”

  The Chinaman smiled back. “Not Confucius. Lin Bao.”

  Hetty laughed with relief that there was someone more knowledgeable on hand to care for Griffin. “It’s good to see you back safe.” She turned and saw that neither of the children was amused. Obviously, as far as they were concerned, frostbitten toes were not a l
aughing matter. Hetty would be sorry if Griffin lost a toe, but she was grateful more harm hadn’t been done. And for that, they owed Karl thanks.

  Bao shook the snow off his coat onto the planked wooden floor, then dropped his coat on Grace’s bed and asked Hetty, “Boss okay?”

  “He’s sleeping.”

  “Found horse. Put in barn,” Bao said to Griffin.

  Hetty saw tears well again in the boy’s dark brown eyes. She watched his Adam’s apple bob before he croaked, “Thank you, Bao.”

  “Everybody okay?” the Chinaman asked.

  “Karl has a little frostbite. Griffin’s is worse,” Hetty replied.

  “Let me see hands and feet,” Bao said as he crossed to the bed. He carefully inspected Griffin’s hands and feet and said, “Ah.”

  “What does that mean?” Grace asked anxiously, her hands once more crossed over her chest.

  Bao looked at Griffin, rather than at Grace, and said, “Purple toe maybe dead. We watch. If not get better, must come off.”

  Hetty watched Griffin’s features, which were finally getting some color, blanch again. “When will we know for sure?” she asked Bao.

  The Chinaman shrugged. “Sometimes week. Sometimes month. Right now, need salve for blisters.” He turned to Grace. “You nurse. I watch.”

  Grace looked surprised and her gaze shot to Hetty, who’d been Bao’s student on the trail. “Shouldn’t Hetty be doing this?”

  “Your turn learn medicine.” Then Bao turned to Hetty and said, “You make tea for boy with rose hips. Remember how?”

  Hetty nodded. “If I can find the rose hips.”

  “In box by door,” Bao said. “Second from top.”

  Despite the weather, Bao had unloaded the wagon when they’d arrived. Many of the supplies had ended up in the cookhouse or bunkhouse. The rest of the boxes and bags he’d dropped inside the door to the cabin.

  Hetty hadn’t unpacked because she’d been too worried to focus on anything except whether Karl would return, and if so, whether Griffin would be with him. In hindsight, doing something productive would have kept her from worrying so much. But it was another day, and her new family was back safe. It was time to go to work. Time to make rose-hip tea for Griffin. And time to make this house her home.

  Hetty looked around with fresh eyes at the central room, which was divided in half. On the left, Karl had arranged a simple parlor around the river-rock fireplace on the back wall, with a couple of willow rockers set in front of the fire and a table between them.

  To the right was the kitchen, with a stove on the side wall next to a copper sink. Roomy cupboards had been built above the sink, which had a pump handle to bring water into the kitchen.

  The two small windows on either side of the front door were fitted with clear glass, and Hetty itched to make curtains to give them a more homey look and to provide privacy.

  She’d only gotten a glimpse of the lumberjacks, but when the wagon had pulled up in front of the cabin, at least a dozen men had gathered around to ogle her and Grace. They’d nodded and touched the brims of their wool caps in homage, and she’d nodded back. They’d been frightening to behold. Unshaven. Long-haired. Bulbous noses. Blackened teeth. Tall men with enormous shoulders, and short, stout ones. Men with narrow faces. Men with sunken eyes and sun-browned skin, all of them blending into one jumbled horde.

  Hetty told herself that despite their frightening appearance the ragtag throng weren’t thieves or murderers. They were simply men hired to work with ax and saw during the snowy weather, when the cut logs could more easily be skidded down the mountain by oxen. They were also the men she was required to help feed and whose cuts she would be asked to stitch. Hetty wondered how she would ever have the courage to walk among them, let alone care for their hurts.

  Grace appeared in the bedroom doorway looking shaken. “Bao said I should come help you unpack.”

  Hetty hurried to the girl and slid an arm around her waist.

  “Griffin’s in horrible pain,” the girl whispered. “He was biting his lip to keep from crying out while Bao tended to him, but I could tell.”

  “It’s too bad he’s hurting, but I suspect he’ll be back to his old cantankerous self before you know it.”

  “He’s not cantankerous,” Grace protested, coming yet again to the defense of her younger brother.

  “Tell me that when he’s driving you mad getting things for him while he’s confined to bed,” Hetty said with a smile. She gave Grace a comforting pat on the rump. “Come on. Let’s get this stuff unpacked and make Griffin some tea.”

  “Griffin likes coffee better than tea.”

  “Bao suggested rose-hip tea,” Hetty said. “We’ll have to ask him if it has some medicinal purpose, so we’ll know in the future.”

  Grace nodded. “I never thought of that.”

  “Let’s see what’s here before we start.” Hetty looked through cupboards to see what was already on hand, so she would have some idea where to store things, while Grace surveyed the stack of boxes and bags by the door.

  “Look at all this food!” Grace exclaimed.

  Hetty was impressed herself. She’d known the wagon was full, but she’d never realized exactly what filled it. Fifty-pound bags of flour and cornmeal and rice and beans. Sugar! Salted pork and beef and lard. Canned peaches. Pickles and jellies and all sorts of relish in glass jars. Tobacco. And whiskey.

  “Is Karl rich?” Grace asked. “Does this mean we’ll never be hungry again?”

  “Not for the foreseeable future, anyway,” Hetty said with a smile as she eyed the treasure trove they’d unpacked.

  “I dreamed about a home like this,” Grace said, running her hand along the kitchen table. “And a father like Karl.” She met Hetty’s gaze. “And a mother like you.”

  Hetty felt her throat swell with emotion. “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.” She crossed and put her arms around Grace, hugging her tight, and felt Grace hugging her back.

  Hetty’s dreams had been about finding Prince Charming, not about raising children. It seemed she’d skipped a step somewhere along the way.

  “I mean it,” Grace mumbled, her face pressed against Hetty’s bosom.

  “Hey!” Griffin called from the bedroom. “I’m thirsty. Where’s that tea?”

  The two females looked at each other and laughed.

  “You certainly called that right,” Grace said.

  Hetty had uncovered the rose hips long ago, but she’d forgotten about the tea in the excitement of opening boxes. “Coming up!” she called back to him.

  She kissed Grace’s forehead, let her go, and said, “You get the water from the hob. I’ll get a cup and the rose hips. And we’d better get a fire going in that stove, so we can make something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

  Grace grinned. “Me, too! What should me make, Mom?”

  “Didn’t I see a book of recipes when we unpacked?”

  “I put it on the shelf beside the sink,” Grace said.

  “Let’s see what we can find that can be made up in an hour or so and set some beans to soaking for supper.”

  It dawned on Hetty that she’d begun the rest of her life. This is what it would be like. Bao to provide Oriental wisdom. Griffin to have adventures that caused trouble. Grace to be a loving daughter. And Karl to protect them all and provide a home where they could live safely ever after.

  Hetty took only a moment to realize that safely ever after was not exactly how the fairy tales went. What had happened to happily ever after? Hetty didn’t allow herself to dwell on the thought. For now, being safe and secure seemed far more important than something as indefinable as happiness.

  If her heart sank a little, she ignored it. There was work to occupy her mind, children to care for, and a new life to begin, with responsibilities and challenges. Happiness would have to wait.

  “What’s going on? What have I missed?”

  Hetty turned and felt her heart career in he
r chest at the sight of Karl’s rumpled brown hair and warm brown eyes. He smiled at her, and she felt herself smiling back.

  Before Hetty could register her feelings, the front door burst open. A huge man with a hooked nose, small black eyes, and black hair sprouting from beneath a wool cap, stood in the doorway. “Better come quick, Boss. Trouble in the bunkhouse.”

  Karl’s heart was pounding by the time he arrived at the bunkhouse, which was situated at the base of the Bitterroot Mountains on the western side of the valley. It was separated from the house by a wide, snow-covered meadow. The loggers had been hired by Dennis in Butte while Karl stayed behind in the valley to work on finishing up the house, barn, and bunkhouse. So he had no idea what to expect.

  He found two men wrestling on the floor of the bunkhouse while the rest of the lumberjacks stood watching. Karl didn’t hear the expected cheering for the man of their choice to win. It took only a moment to determine that Dennis was one of the two men in the fight, and that he was mercilessly beating the man beneath him.

  That was why the logger had come running. None of them had felt he could interfere with the man who’d hired him.

  Karl shoved his way through the crowd, put a hand on Dennis’s shoulder, and had it knocked off with such power that it hit one of the men behind him in the face. Karl turned to apologize and was met with a fist in the nose that made him see stars. He tasted blood and realized his pummeled nose was bleeding.

  The fellow next to the one who’d hit Karl muttered, “That’s the boss,” causing the man who’d hit Karl to make a disgusted face and say, “Well, I’ll be a goat! There goes my job.”

  Karl didn’t have time to spare for the logger’s remorse. He turned back to Dennis, who was still whaling on the man he straddled, who was no longer capable of resisting. Karl didn’t make the mistake of touching Dennis again, just got close enough to his ear to say, “That’s enough, Dennis. Your man’s down.”